


Controlled Burn

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fire Magic, Fire play, Friends With Benefits, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 20:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: Fire rolled off Eskel's fingers, flying through the air fast enough that Geralt shouldn't have been able to watch it all the way in and think,Yeah, this is probably a stupid ideawhile holding perfectly still anyway.





	Controlled Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be my fic for the FanWorks Con 2019's con zine, which had "Ignite" as a challenge theme. Naturally my brain went instantly to Igni, I wrote half of this in a flurry three months ahead of the deadline and then... got totally blindsided by the deadline actually arriving and missed it. So here, have some random fire themed kinky PWP!

Geralt studied the noticeboard, considering which of the offered contracts to tackle first. They were all low-paying and likely to be aggravating to complete, which could just be a sign that his streak of bad luck was continuing--or it just might be a sign of something very good.

The faint sound of a familiar footfall reached his ears, approaching him from behind. Geralt smiled to himself--definitely something good. He put his hand to the board like he was seriously considering wading into the local swamp to clear out a nest of drowners for a fee "to be determined if satisfactory."

"If you're that desperate," Eskel said, close enough behind Geralt to touch him, though he didn't. "I'll buy the drinks. All of those can wait another night."

Geralt dropped his hand, not about to pass up _that_ offer, and turned to get a look at his oldest friend. Eskel's dark hair was slicked back, only a few wet strands escaping, and those fell all the way to his jaw. That meant both that he was overdue to cut his hair and that he'd had to wash something nasty out of it just now. 

He'd picked up a few new scratches on his right cheek, red but shallow. They'd be all but gone in the morning, but for now they cut across the deep scars that grooved the right side of his face, like he'd been trying to set up a game of noughts and crosses on his own skin.

Otherwise, Eskel seemed not to have taken much harm while scooping up all the worthwhile contracts this town had to offer; he was standing steady in newish boots, and the lightly armored jacket he wore for walking around town didn't have any fresh damage or visibly recent repairs. 

Eskel was studying him right back, Geralt knew. When Eskel let out an exasperated little sigh, Geralt wasn't sure whether it was for his too-many-times-mended trousers or if he'd spotted the fact that Geralt was wearing old boots with soles worn so thin he might as well have been barefoot.

He met Eskel's gaze with a rueful smile. "I couldn't just _leave_ a kikimore nest that close to a village, even if the pay was shit. Almost literally." 

Eskel rolled his eyes. "I need to be drunk before I hear this story, I'm too tired to try to strangle you for shaming the School of the Wolf tonight."

Geralt grinned--free drinks were the best reward he was likely to get from that job, and he could probably have Eskel laughing within ten minutes.

In the event, it only took five. Geralt hadn't gotten to the best part of the story and Eskel wasn't drinking that fast, but it didn't take so much. Eskel looked a lot more relaxed when they were tucked behind a table in the tavern's darkest corner, a wall behind each of them and easy lines of sight for both of them on the doors _and_ each other. 

And Geralt, of course, knew all the best ways to get a rise out of him.

Eskel continued buying the drinks while they swapped stories, but they both stuck to ale and didn't rush through their rounds. Eskel had been here long enough to have gotten a feel for the town and just how safe they might be here. He was giving every sign that this could be a particular kind of enjoyable evening, if Geralt was interested.

Geralt returned all the countersigns, complaining about his empty purse, even though he had enough pawnable stuff in his pack that the lack of actual coins was more an inconvenience than a real problem. He leaned into Eskel a little, and let his eye follow the waitress--professionally buxom and flirtatious--and complained that he couldn't even afford company for the night.

"I got an actual room for once, you can stretch out on the floor for free," Eskel said. _Message received._ "And I bet we can figure out some way to cope without whores for a night."

They didn't do this often--they didn't _see_ each other often, really, and they didn't do this every time they did see each other, for a variety of reasons. It wasn't like that. It was just... every now and then when the Path was lonely and shitty--or lonelier and shittier than usual--it was good to go to bed with someone who knew you down to your bones. 

Someone who didn't see you as some kind of freak or novelty. Who you didn't have to worry about hurting or scaring with a witcher's strength if you let yourself get distracted by the sex.

They finished the drinks, and Eskel left a few extra coins on the table before he nodded Geralt toward the stairs. 

Eskel's inn room looked oddly homey and familiar for a place Geralt had never set foot before. Eskel had clearly been staying there for days already while working contracts in the area. The usual detritus of Eskel living anywhere had begun to accumulate, his clothes and gear and other odds and ends all spread out in patterns Geralt recognized. 

The room was even starting to smell like him. Or at least it had the smell Geralt associated with Eskel, which was more _at least five kinds of monster blood mixed together and a collection of herbs that's always unnecessarily heavy on fool's parsley and verbena_ than anything inherent to Eskel himself. On the other hand, after all these years he might well have absorbed those scents thoroughly enough to be sweating them back out.

Geralt also noticed that the bed looked pretty solidly built and wide enough for two witchers to share, if they were friendly about it. The night was cool enough that the closeness wouldn't be unpleasant. Geralt shrugged his pack and swords off and set them down, feeling comfortably certain that he wouldn't actually get pushed off to sleep on the floor once they were done using the bed for more interesting purposes.

Eskel shrugged his jacket off and hung it on a peg, and accepted Geralt's and hung it up on the next peg without actually looking at him. But he didn't undress further, or move toward the bed, or get on with telling Geralt how he was going to earn his keep for the night. He was looking at the floor, actually.

Well, if Eskel wasn’t going to move things along, Geralt could. He perched on the little chest under the window to pull off his boots and socks, setting them aside neatly. He stood up and peeled out of his shirt, and that caught Eskel's attention enough to pull him out of whatever distraction had gotten hold of him. 

"Do you think you--would you--" Eskel said, speaking before he actually looked. He cut off sharply, scowling at Geralt's midsection--probably at the vivid red scar swooping from the center of his chest and down around his ribs on the left side. It was new, and Geralt hadn't told him that story down at the table. 

Geralt didn't bother to protest that his scars always looked worse than Eskel's because his skin was so pale that they stood out more. "It's fine, healed up weeks ago," Geralt said, flapping a hand. "And we both know I probably would, if you tell me what."

Eskel snorted as he met Geralt's eyes. "Yeah, you probably would. It's just..." Eskel ran a hand through is hair, which had dried in fluffy disarray while they were drinking. "Weird, maybe. Not something I wanted to try with a stranger, especially not the first time."

"Well, now I definitely will," Geralt said, unfastening his trousers. "Just so I don't die of curiosity."

He and Eskel didn't fuck _often_ , but they'd been doing it on and off for a very long time, ever since their first fumbling childhood experiments. There was some stuff they hadn't done together, but Geralt couldn't actually picture anything Eskel would be this hesitant to suggest to him after all they _had_ done.

It had to be _really_ interestingly weird. 

That meant it was almost certainly going to be fun even if he didn't actually get off on it, and Eskel would wind up getting Geralt off anyway, so it was a win either way. Also, Eskel would definitely let him have the comfiest spot on the bed if Geralt had just indulged him in something he couldn't ask of anyone else.

Geralt had just started to ease down his pants--the threadbare trousers he wore for traveling, not the leathers he'd wear if he actually knew he was going into a fight--when his attention was drawn by a small sound and a flare of heat and light.

Eskel was standing there, watching him, with a flame hovering over the cupped palm of his hand. Geralt stared, more shocked than he should have been. He and Eskel had both learned the Igni sign for summoning fire decades ago. Geralt had learned to use it a dozen ways in a fight, and could control it well enough to light a candle or lamp or campfire without setting fire to anything else; Eskel had always been better at mastering the signs than Geralt was, quicker to learn and more controlled in his results.

So it wasn't really surprising that Eskel could _do_ that, even when he started rocking his hand and letting the flame roll from one side of his palm to the other like a drop of water sliding over his skin. It was only surprising that he was doing it _now_ , while he was fumbling to tell Geralt the weird sex thing he wanted to do and didn't want to try for the first time with someone other than Geralt. Meaning, someone less durable and imperturbable than a witcher who'd known him since they were six years old?

Yeah, this was _definitely_ going to be fun. 

Geralt let his pants slide down to his knees and reached up to tug the tie loose from his hair; Eskel always liked being able to grab it properly. "Where--"

"Hold still," Eskel said, while Geralt still had one arm raised, his hand on his head. At the words, Geralt's gaze jumped from the fire in Eskel's hand to his face. 

Then he saw the look in Eskel's eyes, dark and fascinated, the scarred side of his mouth drawn up in a half-smile that might also have been a snarl. The room seemed to brighten as Geralt's pupils widened, and his rushing blood made heat dance over his skin from the inside, his dick only getting more interested.

Eskel snorted, not quite a laugh, and the fire rolled off his fingers, flying through the air fast enough that Geralt shouldn't have been able to watch it all the way in and think, _Yeah, this is probably a stupid idea_ while holding perfectly still anyway. 

And then his pants caught fire.

Geralt made a noise somewhere between a squawk and a yelp, as outraged as he was startled. It was no mere illusion of fire; he could feel the heat of it, sharp around his knees and lower legs, and he could smell the cloth scorching and burning. "Eskel! Dammit, I--" 

"I will buy you new pants, if you actually haven't got better in your pack," Eskel rumbled, his gaze fixed on Geralt's lower body--on the fire, probably, more than him, but Geralt's cock twitched and filled under the scrutiny anyway. "Witchers don't need any help with our reputation as desperate vagabonds."

Geralt _had_ been meaning to retire the pants--their color was more "washed-out bloodstains" than whatever it had been originally, and they had more mends than seams--but he always managed to get them clean enough, whole enough, to last a little longer. 

And now they were burning. Around his legs. That seemed a little drastic. 

His legs weren't burning, though. His skin felt no hotter than it would in the sun on a bright day, and even that only directly under the flames; his balls, for instance, were merely pleasantly warm. 

Geralt stared down at the flames licking around his lower legs and still not burning him. It was mesmerizing to see, and more mesmerizing to consider how tightly Eskel had to be controlling the flame to accomplish that. This wasn't just shaping a fireball and letting loose; Eskel was still shaping the fire now, long after it left his hand, and with breathtaking precision. 

Eskel's hand closed on Geralt's shoulder, and Geralt shivered a little, his head jerking up to look Eskel in the face. Eskel didn't meet his eyes; he was still watching the flames. 

"Step out of them," Eskel directed, still holding Geralt's shoulder, and Geralt obeyed, letting Eskel's grip guide him to step back toward the wall rather than forward. Eskel was still for another second, blinking down at Geralt's discarded pants burning on the floor, and then with a flick of his free hand, sent the pants sailing over to the room's little fireplace. They landed neatly over the stingy supply of wood in the grate and lit it up. 

Geralt laughed, the way he sometimes would after--well, after some startling burst of danger had passed and he was still standing. 

Eskel's grip on his shoulder tightened, and then Geralt was backed up against the wall, Eskel's weight pinning him in place, Eskel's hand winding into the length of his hair to tilt his head where Eskel wanted it. Geralt didn't bother to try to stop laughing; Eskel's mouth on his hushed the sound, and the rough kiss settled something in him. His body knew _this_ well enough not to be left with that odd nervous energy to shake out.

Geralt let himself sag back into the wall, let his head go heavy against Eskel's knuckles, his mouth soft and easy for Eskel's lips and teeth and tongue. This part, he could do without even trying. 

Eskel didn't ease up, though, the way he usually did when he was sure he'd won and Geralt was willing to be his for the night. He drew back from the kiss--leaving Geralt's lips feeling pleasantly bruised and stinging where he'd bitten--and his expression was still a little wild and fierce. 

Well. Eskel wanted more, tonight. And Geralt had laughed. 

Geralt raked his teeth across his lower lip and said, low and easy and not laughing at all now, "Where do you want me?"

Eskel closed his eyes for a second and then kissed Geralt again. Clearly that had been the right thing to say, because this time Eskel was sure enough to be gentle, brushing his lips sweetly over Geralt's, tongue moving in a delicate sweep to taste him. 

"Floor," Eskel murmured against Geralt's lips. "Don't want to risk scorching the bed when we'll want to sleep on it, but the floor'll be all right. The planks won't catch too easily."

Eskel had been thinking about this. How _long_ had Eskel been thinking about this? Wanting this? Working out his very precise plan of attack for this? 

Was it an accident at all that they'd met up here tonight? Geralt didn't often feel like prey, and even less often did he enjoy the sensation, but the shiver that went through him then only pushed him closer to Eskel's warmth. "Floor it is, then."

Eskel gave a jerky nod and stepped back, his hand still tight in Geralt's hair. He was careful about it, though, moving slowly and smoothly enough that Geralt didn't have to expend any special effort to keep from having his hair pulled. He stretched out between the hearth and the bed, taking up nearly all of the open space on the floor, and noted that, for all of Eskel's gear and clothes and things strewn over every piece of furniture, he'd left the floor clear. It was even clean, with no grit or crumbs or unidentified gunk making Geralt regret lying down naked on the floor of an inn room.

Geralt had never been particularly self-conscious about being naked, and certainly not with Eskel--by the time you'd survived the Trials side by side and shared dormitory rooms for a decade, there was no body part or bodily function you hadn't shared.

Still. It was one thing to be naked together, in whatever circumstances, and very much another thing to be lying stretched out naked on the floor, arms folded up over his head where Eskel directed them with a jerk of his chin, with Eskel kneeling over him fully clothed. He still had his boots and belt on, a knife sheathed at his hip.

"You gonna--" Geralt said, but Eskel finally released his grip on Geralt's hair. That hand went to Geralt's chest, tracing the vivid track of his newest scar from the center of his chest, following the line of his second-to-last rib across his chest and around his side. 

With his other hand Eskel shaped the Igni sign in the smallest twitch of fingertips, and another uncanny flame appeared, cradled in his palm. 

Geralt took a deep breath and prepared to hold it as long as he had to. Eskel smiled and then tipped his hand, letting the flame drip like water down to Geralt's skin. 

Geralt made a little noise, surprise more than pain, quickly cut off to avoid losing his breath. He had to brace his entire body to keep still. This wasn't like his trousers burning around his legs. This flame was on his skin, and it _hurt_ and didn't stop hurting the way a bad burn went numb--or the way boiling water only hurt for an instant because it cooled to not-boiling-anymore in seconds. 

The flame just danced there, at the knotted end of his newest scar, burning steady as a candle. It kept hurting and hurting exactly the same, while the skin under it failed to blister or blacken. The effort of keeping still only mounted; every instinct was screaming at him to put out the fire, to get away from the source of pain, that it was going to get worse any second, it was going to really hurt him, kill him, and it was such a little flame, he could slap it out with one hand.

Geralt kept his teeth gritted, kept his throat shut to hold in his breath, and while he let his toes curl and his fingers dig into the opposite wrists, he didn't move anywhere else. 

After what felt like an eternity and was probably only a minute, he dragged his gaze from the flame to Eskel--but Eskel wasn't watching the fire, this time. Eskel was watching him.

 _Not so complicated to control_ , Geralt thought, somewhere very far away from where he was lying on the floor under Eskel, being devoured by his fascinated gaze. Geralt wanted to look away, to just let this happen to him, being used the way Eskel wanted to use him, being Eskel's so utterly that he would bear this hurt without so much as twitching. But it was something he had to keep actively doing, forcing himself every second to be still, to accept, and the look in Eskel's eyes told him why he was doing it.

Eskel wanted this. He wanted Geralt's stillness and his hurting and _him_ , in a way he couldn't have let himself want anyone else, not where they could see. And that meant that as much as Geralt was Eskel's right now, Eskel belonged to him even more abjectly, because Geralt knew what he craved, and Geralt could take it from him. Just as easily as he could sink a blade into his own heart.

Something flickered over Eskel's face, and Geralt realized a little too late that his focus on controlling his breath and his body probably meant he wasn't paying enough attention to controlling his expression. He didn't know what Eskel had seen, exactly, but whatever it was, it made Eskel curl down over him and blow the flame out like a candle.

He didn't straighten up, but stayed there, breathing against the place where Geralt felt burned, the pain still radiating, though his skin was barely reddened around the end of the scar. Just the touch of breath on that spot made Geralt let out a raw, helpless sound, and then his breath escaped him entirely as he realized that he could let it, now. 

Eskel's lips brushed that spot, and Geralt let his eyes close, let his head fall back. He didn't fight the rough sound that burst out of him at the sweet, delicate touch of Eskel's tongue where the flame had been a moment before. It felt as if he had no skin at all, no defense, as if that flick of Eskel's tongue could pass right inside him there as easily as it could enter his open mouth. His whole being felt attuned to that one spot; even the throbbing of his cock, almost painfully hard and still untouched, seemed distant compared to Eskel lapping at his skin as lightly as a kitten. 

He blew on Geralt's dampened skin, and it felt startlingly cool, chasing away the last of the burning, and that was enough of a warning. Geralt took another deep breath, felt sweat break out all over his body in the anticipation of pain, and then the flame seared his skin again--this time along the whole length of his new scar. 

Geralt's eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to focus on nothing but keeping still while that pain sliced all around him. He didn't think it had hurt as badly when it first happened; he'd been running on potions and adrenaline when an unlucky misstep let the kikimore catch him with its claw, and even unluckier that the light armor he was wearing that day had already taken a few similar blows in just the wrong spot. 

He'd known he was hurt, but he'd also known that he was still standing and didn't need either of his hands to hold his guts in, so he'd kept fighting until he was done. When he finally got a look at it, he'd downed his strongest healing potion and slathered it in all the Seal salve he had, happy to accept an ugly scar and an hour of ringing ears and blood running green-black in his veins in exchange for getting the wound closed almost immediately. It had probably, technically, hurt worse than this, but all the time it was hurting he'd either been thoroughly distracted or he'd been doing something about it.

Now he was just keeping still with nothing to do but feel it, because Eskel--

Eskel's nose brushed his, and Geralt's eyes flashed open to see Eskel looking down at him, almost close enough to kiss, his body arched over Geralt's as the line of flame went on burning. 

"You can breathe," Eskel said. "I've got a good grip on it now."

Geralt's breath whooshed out of him and he had to gasp before he could say, " _Fuck_ , Eskel, you owe me _so much_ \--"

"Yeah," Eskel said, low and darkly pleased. "Yeah, I do, but I don't hear you telling me to stop, do I?"

"Said you could," Geralt managed, but it wasn't just that. It was _I trust you_ and _I want you to keep looking at me like that_ and _I want you to have every weird thing you can't ask anyone else for_. 

Eskel trailed a finger up Geralt's cock, making him aware of that throbbing ache under the sharper pain of the flame. "Yeah, Wolf, I can see you're being very charitable, letting me."

"Don't fucking--" Geralt didn't know what he was going to say; he just saw Eskel's mouth twitch and realized what Eskel could really do to him, how much worse the flame would hurt on his cock or balls than his side. He also realized how scrupulously careful Eskel would be, to only hurt Geralt just enough. 

It might almost be worth it.

"Esk--" His voice broke before he even got Eskel's entire name out, and then Eskel closed a hand around his cock and Geralt gave up trying to say anything at all. He could only make helpless low noises at the perfect grip of Eskel's hand, nearly as familiar as his own, the pleasure he wrung from Geralt as deftly as he controlled the flames. 

Geralt barely noticed when the line of fire went out--not until Eskel curled down over him to lick that scorched line. Geralt's hips bucked up, uncontrolled, shoving his cock into Eskel's hand, and Eskel scraped his teeth over a tender spot. The pain of that was worse--but better, sweeter, sharper--than the fire, and it tangled together with the pleasure of Eskel's hand still moving just right on his cock. The sensations twisted together, drew tight, and Geralt made another wordless noise, much higher this time, and came almost before he realized he was going to.

Eskel laughed softly against his skin and blew cool air against the burn, stroking Geralt through his climax. Geralt let himself sink against the floor, entirely unresisting, his hands falling open. 

He did make a face when Eskel wiped his come-sticky hand down Geralt's chest, but it was Geralt's come so it was only fair, really. Eskel knelt up over him and looked down thoughtfully, clearly considering what to do next.

Geralt made a little assenting hum, twitching his fingers in what would have been a beckoning gesture if he could gather the strength to raise his arm. _Come on, don't stop now._

Eskel understood, of course, smiling wickedly. Geralt took a deep breath, waiting for the next flame, wondering where it would dance along his skin, but Eskel stood up. Geralt made another noise, a bit further toward mournful than he meant it to be, and Eskel snorted and shook his head, then pulled his shirt off.

 _Oh._ Well, then. Geralt propped his head on his folded arms, getting comfortable, and watched as Eskel stripped. He didn't make a show of it, but he didn't need to; Geralt liked watching his familiar, efficient motions, liked seeing the big powerful body he knew as well as his own revealed as he'd seen thousands of times before and hopefully would continue to see now and then for a very long time to come. 

He also noticed a new scar Eskel hadn't described to him, when Eskel turned away from him to hang his trousers from a peg by his jacket. It was a set of three parallel claw marks, running up the back of his left thigh and curling around the cheek of his ass. That was _definitely_ a story that Eskel owed him. 

Then Eskel turned around again, and Geralt's eyes were drawn to his cock, which was hard and clearly had been for a while, darkly flushed and wet at the tip. Eskel had his left hand curled around it. He'd kept his right hand free for signs, and he was still smiling as he knelt down over Geralt again. Geralt had nearly caught his breath, and couldn't help smiling back; he felt hollowed out, washed clean, melted. Whatever else Eskel wanted to do now, he'd more than earned.

Eskel leaned down over him and kissed his mouth, lightly, so slow and tender that Geralt could feel the scarred spot in Eskel's lip as it moved over his own. He felt the brush of Eskel's fingers, just as light, ghosting up the outside of his thigh, over the crest of his hip--and then fire flashed down the crease of his groin, and Geralt's mouth opened on a choked-back scream. Eskel swallowed any sound he could have made in a rough, deep kiss. 

He didn't know how long it lasted, the kiss and the flame both, until the fire was gone and Eskel settled lower over him, his cock rubbing the raw place where the fire had just gone out. Geralt made a different sound at that, wrapping a leg around Eskel's hips to keep him right there, rubbing into that stinging line, his breath coming fast against Geralt's open mouth. Geralt couldn't help squirming, trying to pull away and push into the friction at the same time, waiting for another flame, another sharp line of pain to replace it.

What he got instead was a familiar tremor shaking Eskel's body, a familiar hitch in his breathing, and the pleasing knowledge of a job--very nearly--well done. Geralt lifted his head just enough to scrape teeth over Eskel's lower lip, and Eskel snarled into a ferocious kiss and drove down harder against him in motions that got more erratic until he felt Eskel come over his belly, splattering onto his assorted burns. 

Geralt jerked his head back to hiss, " _Fuck_ ," at the new sting, and Eskel laughed as he stilled, dropping his forehead to rest against Geralt's. 

"Gimme a minute," Eskel said, catching his breath. He wasn't quite resting his weight on Geralt, but their chests brushed together on every inhale. "We can do that next."

Geralt groaned, as if it were some kind of hardship, and shoved lightly at Eskel's shoulder. "On the bed, though. Unless you're worried about breaking it."

"Eh," Eskel said, philosophical as ever. "Guess we'll see how it goes."

He pushed himself up and pulled Geralt with him as he stood; Geralt met his eyes for a moment that stretched. _That_ had just happened, and here they were alive on the other side, just like everything else they'd ever shared. Still them, just like always.

Eskel smiled first, and turned to shove Geralt toward the bed. "Go on then, I know you're gonna make me do all the work for this too."

"You're the one with all the great ideas tonight," Geralt said, tugging back the coverlet to fall down on reasonably clean sheets, sprawling out so that the only place Eskel could possibly lie on the bed was on top of him. 

Eskel was coming back to the bed with a familiar little salve pot in hand, and gave Geralt an amused head-to-toe look. Geralt held out a hand, and Eskel dropped the little pot into it; Geralt dropped it beside his hip and then patted his thigh just below the still-tender line where Eskel had rubbed himself off, as if he were encouraging him to climb into his lap. "C'mere."

Eskel shook his head--a transparent lie, because he'd scarcely finished the motion before he was climbing onto the bed and stretching out over Geralt. He wasn't so delicate this time, letting his weight rest on Geralt, making him feel all the fresh stinging of his little burns; they'd all be gone by morning, so he might as well enjoy them while they lasted. 

Geralt looked down Eskel's back for the new scar he'd noticed earlier, and reached down to grab just the right handful of Eskel's ass. "So," he said. "Gonna tell me what happened here?"

Eskel tucked his head down and groaned against Geralt's throat. "Do we have that kind of time?"

Geralt smiled at the obvious capitulation and relaxed his grip to pat Eskel's newly-marked ass instead. "We've got all night, and however long it takes us to knock out the rest of those contracts."

Eskel let out a little laugh, a sound Geralt knew well; not amusement so much as pleased acknowledgment. They _did_ have time, this once. They could work in tandem, just until they ran out of contracts or something else came up. And even if that meant parting tomorrow, tomorrow was still hours away, and neither of them needed to sleep. "Well, in that case, I guess. I was out in Kovir..."

Geralt closed his eyes and settled in to listen, though he found himself noticing the sensations even more: Eskel lying pressed to him so tightly that Geralt could feel the rumble of his voice when he spoke, and a soft bed under him, and his body pleasantly sated and just as pleasantly anticipating more. He slid his hand up off of Eskel's ass to curl that arm comfortably around his waist and held him close, just for now.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Controlled Burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156577) by [PhagePods (justaphage)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaphage/pseuds/PhagePods)
  * [[Podfic] Controlled Burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387037) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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